


You were my everything.

by Bluebuell33



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Don't let the sad and angst scare you away, Don't want the tags to give everything away, Heed the tags but also give the story a chance., Johnlock - Freeform, Just know its sad and angst but yet the best thing I have ever written, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Sad ending but not, but only referenced, happy but sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:40:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25809742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebuell33/pseuds/Bluebuell33
Summary: A health issue causes Sherlock to make drastic changes to his life. No more cases. No more London. No more John?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 173
Kudos: 134
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SherlockWatson_Holmes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockWatson_Holmes/gifts).



> Hello everyone! I hope you give this story a chance. It was written for Kat @SherlockWatson_Holmes for the her highest bid on my Fandom Trumps Hate story. She asked for an angst filled story and I have delivered. Please heed the tags but also I think you will enjoy the story. The death is only mentioned and not drawn out. I hate to give anything away but I was advised to make sure it was tagged appropriately. I hope those of you who decide to give it a go, I hope you enjoy this. I love this story and it may be my favorite to date. I have to thank my wonderful betas on this story @holmesianlove and @meerlock for all your help with this. Couldn't have done it without you. <3

**Chapter 1**

**Sherlock’s POV**

Sherlock had known the news would not be what he wanted to hear. He had gone in knowing the chances of unpleasant news were high, but he had not thought it would be this bad. 

Nothing could change this now unless he discovered time travel, which was not a plausible option. 

As he lay on his side, facing the back of the sofa, his head felt heavy. His insides fought against him, churning and turning, making him feel as though he rode a small boat on the high waves. He could feel his body shaking, fighting him at every turn. His hands shook even now as he tried to move them slightly to touch the sunbeam that danced on a cushion in front of him. 

He had no strength in his body; it felt small, tiny, like it wasn’t part of him. He wanted everything to end, to depart without a whisper. To just float away like the sunbeam would as the sun set in the night sky. He wanted to withdraw without a trace, to just walk away. No one would look for him. No one would care. He could leave right now and never look back. Just a flash of light across the course of someone’s day. 

Not a soul would miss him… Except one, he hoped...

His mind ached and pushed against the confines of his skull. Begging to be free. _Dull. Boring._

Doorbell. The tread of soft Italian leather shoes. Seventeen steps, then a knock. 

_Go away_ , his mind shouted. Shaking hands in his hair, pulling. _Go away! He didn’t want to talk about it. Need to be calm. Have to be calm._

“Sherlock?” 

_No! Not getting up. Not answering. LEAVE ME ALONE!_

“Sherlock, open the door,” Mycroft asked again.

_Mycroft was being nice. Overly nice. Exceptionally polite. Mycroft is worried about it._

Key in the lock. _Shouldn’t have let him have a key._

“Oh, Sherlock. What have you done?” Mycroft was sad. Sympathetic.

_DULL!_

_What had he discovered? Had he seen the destroyed room? The books thrown about? Billy the skull fractured in the fireplace? None of it mattered anymore._

“Sherlock, will you turn around and talk to me?” Mycroft was righting the knocked-over coffee table. 

_Leave it! Leave everything. Leave it all where it lies. Don’t move a thing._

“Sherlock, it will be all right. You know that.” 

_Shut up, Mycroft! Of course, he knew that. That changed nothing. Nothing. He was going to lose everything._

“We will make arrangements. Yes?” Mycroft asked, sitting near him. 

_Can feel the pity. Didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t think about it. God… why did everything hurt so much?_

“Sherlock, I require an answer from you and soon. If I am expected to make the arrangements.” Mycroft stood, moving towards the door. Not once had Sherlock looked his way. Still staring at the back of the sofa. At the ever-flickering sunbeam… 

A sigh. Footsteps. Seventeen stairs and then a door closing. _Mycroft had left_. 

Sherlock curled tighter on the sofa, pulling his dressing gown securely around him. _What was he going to do? He couldn’t continue on with life as it was now._

Pulling his phone free of his pocket, he fired out a quick couple of texts. 

**Sent:**

**I need you to tell John that I’m leaving. SH**

**Sent:**

**Don’t tell him the truth. He will feel guilty. SH**

**Sent:**

**And find a place for me to live. Not in the city. He can have 221B. SH**

**Received:**

**You should tell him the truth. MH**

**Sent:**

**No. SH**

**Received:**

**You are making a mistake, Brother. MH**

**Sent:**

**What’s new. SH**

**Received:**

**Consider it done. MH**

Sherlock turned his phone off, dropping it to the floor. He couldn’t close his eyes. This only made him think over the last few hours in vivid detail. 

Mycroft had been very insistent that he get everything checked out after the last time he had been injured during a case. Which had been just over a month ago. Nothing bad, just a bonk on the head, or so he thought, and now he had to change his whole life. 

No more running through the streets. No more chases on rooftops. _No more John._

If he was being honest, John was becoming too busy for cases anyways. He was always staying with his girlfriend or at work. Sherlock had taken to doing cases alone most days, which was how he ended up here. It had started with bad headaches. Piercing just behind his eyes. They would render him useless for whole days. Mycroft had stepped in and insisted that Sherlock see a doctor. Someone besides John was Sherlock’s only condition. He didn’t want John to know. 

John hadn’t been with him the day he was hit and already felt guilty about that. Sherlock was able to hide his headaches since John wasn’t around much. 

Now Sherlock had his diagnosis. It was a small brain aneurysm. Doctor recommended no stress and low blood pressure. This had prompted his decision to move out of the city to a simpler life. 

But just because Sherlock could no longer do what he loved, didn’t mean John couldn’t. Sherlock’s life going forward would be too dull and boring for John. No danger or need for John to carry a gun. That was not the life John signed up for. John would be happier living in London. 

Sherlock loved John too much to ask him to give up everything. Even though it was one sided and friendship was all that John was offering. Sherlock decided that John deserved more.

Not that there was a time Sherlock had deserved John. Sherlock always wanted what he couldn’t have since the first day he met John at St. Barts. John never expressed any emotions that said he felt the same, so Sherlock had kept his love quiet. He hadn’t wanted to lose John because he couldn’t restrain himself. 

Sherlock knew it was cowardly to leave without telling John why, but if Sherlock didn’t leave now... _Well, he just had to leave now._

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

One day later, Sherlock stood in the sitting room looking around 221B one last time. Mycroft had sent him several choice cottages far from the city and Sherlock had chosen one. Today was his moving day. Sherlock had shown Mycroft’s minions what to pack and sent it ahead. One of Mycroft’s cars was now downstairs waiting to drive him to Sussex. 

Sherlock took one more turn around the flat, committing everything to his mind palace. He had left everything for John, only taking his clothes, books and research. He had left their chairs sitting across from each other. He didn’t have the heart to break them up. 

Sherlock stood now behind John’s chair, his hands lightly feeling the red fabric one last time.

Though he was sure John would mostly get rid of everything Sherlock had left behind, he hoped that by leaving the chairs John wouldn’t forget him.

He had many fond memories of them in this room, sitting in these chairs. Which was why he had asked Mycroft to find him a place far away. Sherlock couldn’t continue living in this city and not be running the streets solving cases. 

Speaking of John, Sherlock needed to get going while John was still at work. Sherlock wanted to make sure he was gone before John returned. Mycroft had handled letting John know that Sherlock was leaving and Sherlock had asked Mycroft not to tell him anything of John from this point on. 

Pulling his coat collar up around his ears and taking a last deep breath, Sherlock turned towards the door and straight into John’s watching eyes. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So happy that so many of you took a chance on this story! I hope you all enjoy chapter 2!

**Chapter 2**

**Sherlock's POV**

**One Year and a Half later.**

Sherlock heard the birds chirp outside his window before the alarm sounded, telling him it was time to get up. He took a moment stretching out his limbs before rolling to sit and put his feet on the plush rug beside his bed. He curled and uncurled his toes in the rug as he tried to crack his neck. Sherlock rubbed a hand around the back, trying to work out the muscle. He must have slept funny again. 

Watson must have been taking up more than his share of the bed last night.  _ Where was he now?  _

Sherlock stood slowly, slipping on his dressing gown and made his way down to the kitchen. 

“Watson?” He called while he started the kettle and made a piece of toast. Still nothing. Moving around the kitchen, Sherlock prepared his tea and toast before taking everything to sit out on his back patio. His chair and small side table sat facing the hives, so he could watch the bees while eating breakfast. 

As Sherlock finished his toast, he realised he should have made another piece for Watson.  _ Where was he?  _

“Watson?” Sherlock called out again. Looking about the garden, he waited for any sound that would lead him to where he may have gone. 

Cleaning up his cup and plate, Sherlock proceeded into the cottage to dress. While putting on grey trousers and jumper, he took in his reflection, noting how much his appearance had changed in the last year and a half. His curls were longer as he hated going to have them cut. His body was still lean and willowy, but not from running after dangerous people anymore. 

That seemed a lifetime ago. Sherlock quickly pulled himself out of his head and went in search of his boots.

Finding his wellies by the door, Sherlock headed out into the garden to check his hives. He had an early morning farmer’s market to get to, but first, he needed to check in with his queens. Sherlock made his way across the garden to a small shed where he kept his bee suit. 

When buying the property, Sherlock had been happy to find one that already had hives. He had imported Apis Mellifera Carnica from Romania after having spent past years researching them with the hope he would end up here one day. His original dream had included an ex army doctor.

Donning his suit and hat, Sherlock checked in with each hive. Two were getting close to being ready and the other three he had just taken care of earlier this month. Hive number three would most likely need harvesting in the next day. If so, he would need more jars soon. He made a mental note to get some while in town this morning. 

Once everything was in order for the day with the hives, he unsuited and headed back to the house. Still keeping an eye out for Watson. Sherlock needed to find him before it was time to leave. He never went to the market without him, Watson wouldn’t allow it. 

The clock in the hall read half past eight as he passed by. Time to load his vehicle. They couldn’t be late or they would end up with the spot next to Mrs Connor. The woman was okay unless she had just returned from visiting her son, and then that was all she would talk about. Sherlock had heard enough about the forty-two-year-old, single and gay son of Mrs Connor’s to last him a lifetime. He was sure no one could be that wonderful and chalked it up to a mother’s boasting. 

Sherlock stepped out his front door, heading for the barn where he kept his land rover to load up the honey when he heard his name.

“Good morning, Sherlock,” called out his elderly neighbour, Mrs Taylor, as she walked up the drive with Watson by her side.

Sherlock waved as he walked towards them. “Good morning. I wondered where he got to earlier.” 

Watson barked as he ran the last few feet to Sherlock’s side. He jumped up as Sherlock bent down to scratch behind his ears. Sherlock nuzzled the English Springer Spaniel’s face as he received licks from Watson's energetic tongue. Mycroft had questioned his sanity heavily when Sherlock named the puppy Watson. 

Sherlock stood, letting out a chuckle as Watson did his best to knock him over with kisses. “I hope he wasn’t bothering you much this morning, Mrs Taylor.” 

“Oh no, dear. He was a right gentleman. Found him chasing a rabbit through my garden earlier and we enjoyed a light breakfast together,” she smiled at the both of them before checking her watch. “Oh, is that the time? You better get going, deary, or you will get the spot next to Mrs Connor. I heard her son is visiting this week.” 

Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes. “Just what I need.” 

Mrs Taylor giggled. “It may just be, deary. Off with you now.” She shooed at him before walking back down the drive towards her cottage. 

“What do you say, Watson? Should we test our luck or stay home this week?” Sherlock looked down as he affectionately rubbed the top of Watson’s head, scratching a bit behind his left ear. Watson wagged his tail, barking back. “Yeah, you are right. We have a lot of honey to sell. Very well, you win, but if we get stuck by her, you better run interference.” 

Sherlock loaded the Land Rover with his honey and table while Watson followed him back and forth supervising. Once everything was loaded and secured in the back, Sherlock opened the passenger door for Watson and they were off to the farmer’s market. 

As they drove through the countryside, Sherlock thought about how Mycroft had been sure he would be bored out here. He had been inclined to agree with him after the first few weeks. But now that he had Watson, the bees and his honey business, life seemed good. There were days when his mind still needed a challenge. It was then he would reach out to Lestrade for a puzzle. Nothing he needed to be there to see, just an odd puzzle for his mind to work through. 

It had become enough. Better. Lestrade had learned that Sherlock would not speak about John and didn’t want to know what he was up to. Sometimes Lestrade would just slip in a  _ ‘he is okay’  _ to their conversation. It always caught Sherlock off guard. Made him stop for a minute. Knowing John was okay without him was a double-edged sword. Sherlock had wanted that, but also hated it. Part of him wanted John to miss him, to look for him, to care. 

Sherlock huffed at his own thoughts. Running his free hand through his curls, Sherlock glanced over at Watson in the front seat. What would John think if he knew Sherlock had named his dog Watson? _ Probably call me an idiot. ‘Cause I am one _ . 

Sherlock shook the thoughts from his head as he parked near the market.  _ Once more into the fray. _

Sherlock set up his stand, three spots away from Mrs Connor. Not ideal, but it could be worse. He put up his sign listing his prices and name. 

**HOLMES & WATSON HONEY FARM**

**“Pour ma Chanson de coeur”**

Sherlock had several kinds of honey. Some had hints of fruits and others of berries. He liked to try different ones each time and had many extensive notes on the subject. 

“For my heart song?” 

Sherlock looked up, surprised. Standing in front of his stand like a breath of fresh air in a muggy room was a rather agreeable man. He was tall (about 185.42cm), not a heavy man (around 104kg), and he had dark short hair with brown eyes. The best part was he looked nothing like John and was currently smiling at Sherlock. 

“Uhm, yes. I—it was just..” _ How to explain the name of his honey farm. _

“Sorry, didn’t mean to question it.” The man stuck out his hand. “Rob Connor. Nice to meet you.” The man smiled more. 

Sherlock was unsure why he had found himself at a loss for words. “Yes, uhm. Holmes, Sherlock.” Sherlock took the man’s hand in a firm shake. “Connor? As in Mrs Connor’s son?” 

“Yes, guilty. My mother insisted I come over to meet you and now that I have I can see why.” Rob Connor continued to smile while still holding Sherlock’s hand. “So is there a Mr Watson around to meet? He is one lucky man.” 

Sherlock’s brain stuttered. “No, uhm. Watson is my—my, uhm, dog.” Heat flushed his cheeks. He was a mess; if only the world would open a hole beneath his feet and suck him out of this moment. 

“Oh! My lucky day then,” Rob smiled, slowly releasing Sherlock’s hand. “Is there anyone that would get upset if I asked you to dinner?” 

“No, no one,” Sherlock blurted out in a rush of words. He felt the heat rush up his neck.  _ God, he was so embarrassed. It surprised him the man hadn’t run away yet.  _

“So how about it then?” 

“Dinner with me?” Sherlock asked again. He hated repetition, but no one had ever just asked him to dinner. It shocked Sherlock that Rob was still standing in front of him, waiting for an answer to his question. 

“Yeah. I am guessing you don’t get asked out a lot?” Rob chuckled. “Shall we say tonight at seven? You can even pick the place.” 

“No, not often. I mean, yes, I would love to and I know a place.” Sherlock nodded, agreeing to a date with none other than Mrs Connor’s son, who he was sure could not be as wonderful as she said he was.  _ Guess he was going to find out tonight.  _

“Good. Good, all right, see you tonight then.” Rob shook Sherlock’s hand again with a smile before walking back towards Mrs Connor’s booth. 

Sherlock had a date. The first proper date since Uni. That barely counted as it only lasted about ten minutes after Sherlock deduced things the boy didn’t want to hear.  _ Oh well.  _ Moving past that, he needed to focus on the farmer’s market right now and sell his and Watson’s honey. 

_ Speaking of Watson, where had that dog gotten to?  _ Sherlock did a quick spin of the area around his booth and spotted Watson near the corner of the next booth, licking the hand of a shorter man with sandy hair. Watson was not a big fan of most people and he normally spent his time at the market sleeping under the table by Sherlock’s feet. So seeing him enjoying another man's company was something. 

Sherlock stepped around his booth. “Sorry if he is bothering you.” 

The man looked up straight into Sherlock’s eyes, causing him to stop breathing. Blue eyes. Eyes he knew better than his own. 

_ John. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Flashback to moving day. Sherlock’s POV**

Sherlock stood unmoving, staring into the angry eyes of John Hamish Watson. He could sense the anger John was feeling. That was why he had planned to leave before John could show up. To avoid this. 

“Hello, John.” 

“You’re a right bastard. You know that?” John fumed. 

Sherlock forwent a response. Opting to try not to fight with John, as this may be the last time he would see him. 

“Nothing to say to that? Huh? You are just going to leave and say nothing to me? You send Mycroft to bloody tell me, like I am nobody to you! And then just what? Sneak out while I’m at work?!” John was livid. 

“John, maybe you should-” Sherlock started.

“NO! You don’t get to tell me to do a bloody thing!” John raged. “What is this about you leaving? Mycroft says you’re leaving and giving me Baker Street! Do you think I would still want to live here?!” 

Sherlock had considered the idea that John wouldn’t stay at Baker street after he left. He had arranged for Mycroft to continue paying his half of the rent if John stayed. 

“And another thing! What is this bloody shit about you working for Mycroft now?!” John continued his rant. 

Sherlock tried to remember the reason Mycroft had told John. It would be better that way. It took everything in him not to drop to John’s feet and beg the man to go with him. They could go off together. Just the two of them against the world forever. 

But no. John didn’t want Sherlock. Even though John was a closeted bisexual, that didn’t change the fact he didn’t love Sherlock. _ Liked, sure. Best friends, maybe. But love? No.  _ Sherlock wasn’t lucky or worthy enough for John’s love. John deserved greatness and excitement, and Sherlock was neither now. 

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. He closed it again sharply.  _ He couldn’t lie. If this was the last time he would see John, he wanted to tell the truth.  _

“John, I-” Sherlock faltered.

“You what?” John was leaning on the door frame now. He looked vulnerable, even sad under the anger. 

“I have to go.” Sherlock blurted out in a half whisper. 

“Why?” John questioned. 

“I just have to. This is the way things are now.” Sherlock backed away. 

“Tell me why? Why now?” John had backed Sherlock against the red chair. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Please?” 

John was standing so close to him, Sherlock could smell the shampoo that John had used that morning. John always smelled of tea and sandalwood. Sherlock noticed that he was leaning towards John now and the man had paused his speech. Another few inches and their lips could meet. Just a soft brush, a taste of what could have been. 

“Sherlock? What are you doing?” John’s voice was quiet and unsteady.

Sherlock snapped his head back. He had been too close. _ When had he closed his eyes? _ John was staring up at him, his eyes open wide.  _ Sherlock had almost kissed John.  _ He had been right there, poised just above John.  _ John knew now _ . There was no way to hide what he had just tried to do. They were standing too close, not even six inches between them. 

Sherlock could feel the panic rising, his palms were sweating and his heart was beating rapidly in his chest.  _ Have to get away from John.  _

“Sherlock?” John reached out his hand towards Sherlock’s arm. 

Before John could touch him, Sherlock leapt to the side, knocking over the small table beside John’s chair. “I have to go.” 

“Oh, no you don’t! You haven’t said why you are leaving yet!” John caught his arm as Sherlock tried to move past him. 

Sherlock felt his insides screaming. John seemed determined not to let him leave without giving an acceptable reason. Sherlock looked down at where John was gripping his arm. He could feel the heat from John’s hand seeping through his skin. He wanted to wrap his arms around John, hold him close and never let him go. 

“I love you,” Sherlock whispered, raising his eyes to meet John’s. 

“You what?” John stuttered. 

“I love you, that's why I am leaving,” Sherlock repeated softly. 

John dropped his arm, taking a few steps back. “You— No, I—It’s not--” 

“I know you don't, which is why I am leaving. You won’t have to see me again. Ever… Goodbye, John.” Sherlock hurried from the room, tears falling from his eyes.

John didn't follow him. He had hoped against all odds that John might have burst through the door before the car pulled away, but it didn’t happen. Sherlock held himself together as best as he could until he reached the cottage. 

Once there, Sherlock went straight to his bedroom and fell apart. The sobs shook his body until exhaustion overtook him and he fell asleep on his tear-soaked pillow. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Present day. Sherlock’s POV**

John was here. John was standing in front of him, petting his dog. Sherlock’s heart had stopped beating in his chest; There was no air in his lungs. __

“Uhm. Hey, Sherlock.” John straightened, his hand still on Watson’s head as the dog nosed him for attention. 

_ How long had it been since he had seen John? One year, 7 months, 16 days and 17 hours; but who was counting? Now here he was in the flesh, standing before Sherlock like it had been yesterday.  _

“John,” Sherlock’s voice cracked over the name. A name he had not used since that day in Baker Street. John's eyes followed his every move. Sherlock was unsure what to say.  _ Why was John here? What did he want?  _

They stood just feet from each other neither moving nor speaking until Sherlock heard a customer approach his booth. 

“Uhm, I just--,” Sherlock waved towards the booth before turning to help Mrs Parker. He could feel John watching him from where he stood next to Watson. 

"Good morning, Mrs Parker. How are you today?"

"Good morning, Sherlock. I am well. Do you have any new flavours this week?" she grinned with excitement. 

Sherlock was fond of Mrs Parker. She reminded him of Mrs Taylor. They were both in the same book club and were always fussing over him on rare occasions when he joined them.

"I am afraid not this week." He smiled bagging two other honey jars she had chosen. 

"Oh very well then deary."

Sherlock finished helping Mrs Parker with her honey, thanked her and promised to save her a jar of his berry honey for next week. 

Turning back, he found John staring open-mouthed at him. Sherlock looked around him to see what had caused such a reaction from John, finding nothing he gave a questioning gaze back. 

“You just,” John gestured towards Mrs Parker. “It's just not--”

Sherlock looked to where Mrs Parker was walking away, confused. He was about to ask what John meant when it hit him. John had never seen Sherlock interacting with people who were not clients or criminals. He hadn’t been around the last year and a half to see how Sherlock had changed from who he was in London. 

John walked up to his stand. “I’m sorry, I just never- I mean with Mrs Hudson, sure, but this?" 

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. “There is a lot that is different. Why are you here, John?” 

“My, uhm, partner gave me a jar of honey as a gift the other day because it… well it had “Holmes and Watson” on it. Thought maybe...So I googled the brand.” John looked down before meeting Sherlock’s eyes. 

“And you found me,” Sherlock finished, trying to keep his heart from re-breaking over the thought of John’s girlfriend giving him Sherlock’s honey.

“Yeah, I did.” John smiled. “I just thought I would come and see if it was the Holmes I knew.” 

“I see.” Sherlock straightened a few jars in front of him. “Well, now you have. Will you be returning to London now?” 

“I thought, maybe we could have dinner? Catch up? Talk about old times?” John smiled. “Maybe you could tell me why you are here instead of doing jobs for Mycroft.” 

Sherlock wanted so badly to spend time with John. He missed him more than anything, but then what? Would John go home and Sherlock would once again be piecing his heart back together in the aftermath?No, Sherlock would always want more. _ Best not to open that door at all.  _

“Unfortunately, I am busy this evening. Have a safe journey. Sorry you travelled all this way.” Sherlock patted the side of his leg for Watson to heel. The dog looked back and forth between him and John before complying. 

John looked visibly upset by his words. “Sherlock, I was hoping--”

This was the moment Rob walked by Sherlock’s booth, calling out. “Hey Sherlock, I’m off on errands. Looking forward to tonight, gorgeous!” 

Sherlock could only wave in acknowledgment, his eyes never leaving John’s. Waiting to see what he would do with that. 

“So that’s your-?” John asked, not finishing his question.

“Yes,” Sherlock decided not to mention it was their first date or that he didn’t know the man well or that he could never compare to John. Instead, he kept it simple. 

“Right. Okay. I guess I will just... It was good to see you Sherlock,” John turned, checking around him before walking towards the entrance of the park. 

Sherlock felt his heart go with the man. He wanted to call out, tell him to come back, but that would be a terrible idea. At his feet, Watson stirred before jumping up to run after John.

“Watson! No!” Sherlock called out. 

Both John and Watson stopped turning towards him.  _ Damn! He hadn’t wanted John to know he named his dog Watson in a pathetic love sick moment. There was no going back now.  _

“Heel, Watson.” Sherlock called again. 

The hopeful look that faded from John’s face as he realised Sherlock meant the dog was agonising to witness. 

It was a look that stayed with Sherlock long after John had walked away. Even now, hours later as he dressed for his date, looking in the mirror he could see the look on John’s face. Sherlock looked down to where Watson sat near his feet, watching him closely. 

“You better behave tonight, Watson.” 

The dog cocked his head, lifting his ears to listen. 

Sherlock couldn't help the smile that crossed his face. He would be forever grateful to Mrs Taylor for bringing him Watson. She had shown up with Watson in her arms after Sherlock had spent a drunken night on her couch. It had been three weeks after moving in and he had realised he would never have contact with John again. 

She had been a sympathetic ear, listening to him spill his heart out. The next day, while Sherlock nursed a wicked hangover, Mrs Taylor had arrived with the small pup. It was love at first sight for both him and Watson, and they became inseparable quickly. Having a companion made a world of difference. Sherlock still loved and missed John every day, but Watson helped fill that void a little. 

Reaching down, Sherlock ruffled Watson’s ears before he finished getting ready. Rob would be here to pick him up in about forty-five minutes. He looked over his outfit, black trousers, navy dress shirt with two buttons open at the collar and a black jacket to complete the ensemble. Casual but sharp looking. He gave himself a nod before moving to the loo for some last-minute hair checks. 

Finishing just in time to hear the bell ring at his front door, Sherlock took a deep breath, trying to settle the butterflies in his stomach. It had been such a long time since he had been out with anyone, but he could do this. Smoothing out his lapels one more time, Sherlock moved to open the door and greet Rob. 

“Wow,” Rob whistled as Sherlock stood in the doorway. “Hello Gorgeous, I think I am at the wrong house. You are way too good looking to be my date.” 

Sherlock felt the blush creep across his cheeks and flush his face.  _ No one had ever treated him this way.  _ It felt nice to be seen. “Flattered,” Sherlock smiled back. 

Soon they were in the car, and on their way to a small pub that Sherlock enjoyed often. Rob had made a show of opening his car door and chatting about many interests they seemed to share. Reaching the pub, Rob placed his hand on the small of Sherlock’s back as he guided Sherlock through the building to a table in the back. 

Sherlock had become completely wrapped up in their conversation to the point he had not seen John sitting at the bar as they had passed. Once they were seated and looking over the menus, Sherlock noticed John. He could see that John had already had more than he should by the few empty glasses in front of him.  _ This would not be good. _

“Sherlock?” Rob placed a hand on Sherlock’s arm. 

He must have paused mid sentence.“Uhm, yes. Sorry. Lost my train of thought for a moment.” Sherlock turned back towards Rob, trying to push thoughts of John from his mind. 

"You okay?” Rob looked over the bar to where John sat. “Friend of yours?” 

“No, not for a long time. He just showed up today from London. I don’t know why,” Sherlock said quietly. 

“Do you want to invite him to join us? That would be okay.” Rob smiled at him, his hand gripping Sherlock’s arm still. 

Sherlock wondered how he had got this lucky and unlucky at the same time. “No I think not. Let us just enjoy our meal.”

Half way through the meal and stilted conversation, Sherlock found himself watching John again. The man was becoming intoxicated with every passing moment and it would only be a matter of time before he grew brave enough to approach their table. He could read it off John like a book. 

“Do you want any dessert?” Rob asked him, pulling Sherlock once again from his thoughts.

“I have some wonderful honey biscuits at my home if you are interested? Made with my own honey,” Sherlock smiled back at Rob. They needed to leave and fast, John was making his way over. 

“That sounds perfect, let me just settle the bill.” Rob stood, walking away. Sherlock watched him leave just as John slid off the bar stool and headed towards the table.

“Hey Sherloockk,” John slurred. 

“John, please don’t.” Sherlock could see it all on John like a trainwreck waiting to happen. “Don’t say something you will regret.”

“What do you meeeannn?” John plopped down in the chair next to Sherlock. “I have misssed you.” 

Sherlock’s heart tightened in his chest. He stood gathering his phone up. “John, you should return to your room.” 

“Don’t have one. Nope. Too late, everything booked. Was…. supposed to have a place,” John hiccuped out. 

Sherlock had known there was a festival nearby which had overflowed to take up everything the town had to offer for accomodations. “Where did you think you’d be staying?” Sherlock could see once the words had left his mouth, that John had thought he would be staying at Sherlock’s. 

“Oh…I see.” 

John looked sheepish in his drunkenness. Sherlock was thankful that John seemed to be a happy drunk tonight. He had seen John before as a much different drunk and it was not something he wished to see again.

Rob appeared next to Sherlock, his arm going around Sherlock’s waist. “Are you ready, beautiful?” 

Sherlock nodded, his eyes still watching John. He could see John take everything in and realise. “Good luck, John.” Sherlock hurried from the building with Rob close behind. His eyes burned with unshed tears. Even as he tried to keep his heart protected, walking away from John was killing him. 

He was silent the whole car ride home. When they arrived, Sherlock realised that he was in no place to be good company. He felt bad for being a terrible date.

As Rob stopped the car, Sherlock turned in the seat to face him. “Would it be alright if I begged off on dessert tonight? I’m afraid I won’t be much fun.” 

Rob smiled. “I had a feeling you were going to say that. It has something to do with the bloke at the bar doesn’t it?” 

Sherlock winced, but before he could answer Rob was talking again. “It’s okay. I think I understand. Have a good night, Sherlock. I enjoyed our evening.” 

"I’m sorry I was a bit distracted tonight. Thank you for taking me to dinner.” Sherlock gave Rob a small smile before stepping out of the car. 

He walked to the front door, giving Rob a wave before letting himself in. Watson was waiting just inside with his tail wagging. 

Sherlock gave the dog a pat before collapsing into a chair.  _ A disappointing ending to an otherwise enjoyable evening.  _ Sherlock rubbed his hands over his face, sinking them into his hair with a frustrated scream. He wanted to run back to the pub and bring John home for the night, even though his mind was yelling it would be a bad idea. 

He didn’t know how long he had sat there until a yell from outside startled him. 

“SHERLOCK! SHERLOCK HOLMES! Open this bloody door!”

_ John. _

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so happy that so many of you took a chance on my story. I hope that you continue to enjoy and leave me wonderful comments even if they are just to yell about your broken heart. <3 You can always find me on twitter as well @Octoberisblue. <3 Muah

Chapter 5

Sherlock stood, then moved towards his door slowly as John continued to yell for him. Watson started to bark at the noise coming from John. Sherlock paused, his hands pressed against the wood as he listened to John. He was drunk, obviously, and leaning on the door.

“Sherlock? Bloody hell, I have the wrong house don’t I?” John grew quieter. “Fuck, I should have stayed at the pub. I should have just-- what am I doing here?”

Sherlock could see John in his mind, sitting on the porch leaning against the door with his head in his hands, talking to himself. Sherlock had a choice right now: keep quiet and let John think he was at the wrong house or open the door. Watson looked up at him barking again.

Sherlock knew what he would do even before his mind decided. He took a deep breath, unlocking the door and opening it slowly to keep John from falling over.

“John, what are you doing here?” Sherlock asked, as John tried to right himself.

“Sherlock! This IS your house!” John grinned at him, struggling to stand as Watson began licking his face.

“Yes and you’re drunk,” Sherlock said tightly, his hand gripping the wood to the point his knuckles turned white.

“Only a little,” John joked as he wobbled on his feet. “Easy pup, you are going to knock me down.”

Sherlock reluctantly stepped back, opening the door wider so that John could enter. “Do come in before you fall.”

“Ta,” John moved into the house, making his way to a chair in the sitting room. Watson close behind him, wagging his tail.

Sherlock followed him, his mind racing with questions. What did John think of the house? Did he like it? Why was he here? Was he staying? Did Sherlock want him to stay?

So many questions and thoughts were running through his mind that it was overloading quickly. Sherlock took a seat on the chair across from John. His mind registered how similar it was to Baker Street, causing his heart to ache. He thought he had gotten past this. The ache, the longing, the pain of missing John. He absently rubbed his chest as he watched John petting Watson.

“Your dog seems to like me,” John commented. “You really named him Watson?”

Sherlock nodded. Not trusting his voice at all and hoping John’s next question wouldn’t be why he did.

John seemed more sober as he looked around the house. Sherlock had known John long enough to know how his mind worked. Seeing him now, Sherlock realised that John had been drinking but the behaviour on the porch and at the pub had been a performance. How had he not caught that earlier? His mind must be getting slow...

“Is he here?” John looked up meeting Sherlock’s eyes.

“Who?” Sherlock was taken aback by how John had calmly changed his questions. Then he realised who John thought was here. Is that why he had showed up acting so drunk? Sherlock wasn’t sure how to react. His hands shook a bit. “No. No one is here aside from us and Watson. Why are you here, John?”

“I’m sorry.” John whispered, his eyes dropping to the floor.

"You’re sorry…? For what?” Sherlock's hands gripped the arms of his chair. Knuckles white. When John didn’t continue, Sherlock’s heartbeat rose. He needed to remain calm regardless. But that was so hard...

“Sherlock, I--,” John dropped his head to his hands. Watson moved closer to John, his nose nuzzling at John’s arm. He whined as John ignored him. “I don’t know how to… Why didn’t you tell me you were back?” There was something in John's voice.

Darting to Sherlock’s side, Watson pressing his nose to Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock reached his hand to pet Watson as he watched John struggle for words. “John, I never-- I never left.” His nerves made his stomach churn.

John leapt to his feet suddenly. “What do you mean? This whole time you have been here?”

Sherlock looked down at his hands. “Yes.”

“All this time I thought you were off in some other country doing God knows what without me but instead you were here, creating the perfect life…” John sighed. “You know what, I am sorry that I came. I didn’t mean to ruin everything. I just thought… I don’t know what I thought. Nevermind. Goodbye Sherlock. ” John crossed the room and was out the door before Sherlock could react to his words.

It was déjà vu. Only he had been the one leaving last time. Sherlock decided not to follow the pattern and rushed out the door. He could see John still in the drive. “John Hamish Watson!”

Watson barked beside Sherlock as John stopped in his tracks. “You will come back in here this instant,” Sherlock yelled. He watched as John slowly turned and started back towards him.

“Good,” he nodded. Walking back in the door, Sherlock made his way to the kitchen to start the kettle, giving each of them a moment. He poured them each a cup, making John’s just the way he liked it.

Returning to the sitting room, he found John back in the chair and Watson sitting beside him. Sherlock sat the tea next to John before taking his seat again.

“Now, shall we try that again?” he asked, taking a sip of tea, carefully. He wished it was something stronger but he had to be careful.

John shook his head. “No,” John gestured his hand at Sherlock. “Who are you even? Over a year ago, you dropped a bomb on me and before I could even wrap my head around it, you disappeared and I couldn't find you. When I finally do, you’re living this perfect life. Perfect house, perfect honey company, perfect boyfriend, sitting there so calmly.” John threw his hands up in the air. “Then in comes me. One trainwreck after another. Barely holding a life together at this point.”

“I was under the impression that you were happy with the direction of your life.” Sherlock took another sip, giving himself something to do, while watching John’s reaction over the top of his glass.

John snorted before taking a drink from his own cup. “What direction? Alone in my tiny bedsit, counting the hours until I can leave for work. Drinking each night to forget how fucked up my life is? Yeah, it’s a happy direction alright.” John set his cup down in a huff. "Don't you have anything stronger than tea?"

“What about your partner?” Sherlock asked, his mind wanting to know what his heart didn’t want to hear. “Where are they in all of this? And no, I don't."

“My partner?... Oh, the honey. That’s to say-- well,” John huffed a laugh, running his hand over his face. “Mike is my partner at the clinic. We share an office.”

Sherlock took the information in, filing it away. “None of this explains why you are here?”

“No, no it doesn’t.” John shook his head. “The truth is… God this is so much harder than I thought it would be.”

Sherlock waited patiently as he could, one hand holding his tea, while the other scratched Watson’s head.

“I have thought a lot about… about us.” John started. “I was angry for a while that you would drop that on me and then disappear without taking me with you. Out having an adventure, saving the world, not needing me.” John shook his head.

“John, I didn’t mean - I wasn’t going to say anything. I know how you feel about me and I know the life I was headed for would be far too quiet for you.”

“You think this is too quiet for me?” John waved his hand around the room. “You do all of that. Lie about everything you’re doing and at the last moment you decide to tell me--” John stopped his rant, sighing deeply. “After all that you decide to tell me you have feelings for me?”

Sherlock watched everything unfolding. What to do? What to do...?

John wasn’t done yet. “You knew how I felt about you, yet out the door you went and I couldn’t follow you.”

“Why would that bother you?” Sherlock probed. “At best you see me as a friend, much like Lestrade or Stamford. Maybe a good friend.” The emotion that fell across John’s face said that Sherlock had made a grave mistake. “Unless you just saw me as your flatmate and colleague?”

“Is that really what you think, Sherlock? That what I feel for you is the same or even less than Greg and Mike?”

Sherlock hesitated before answering. “Is that not the truth? I will say I thought we sometimes had something closer.”

John dropped his head into his hands and a muffled whisper came from the back of them. “No, Sherlock. We were much closer than that. At least I thought we were. You were and are my best friend.”

Sherlock had no response. No answer to give. He had hoped that they were something more or that they could be. His heart was fluttering in his chest. He tried to keep from standing and taking John in his arms. John hadn’t said he returned Sherlock’s love. He had said they were friends, maybe even good friends.

“John,” he started. “Why are you here? Is it only to catch up and see an old friend?”

“No,” John’s face reappeared from his hands. “It’s more than that.”

“I feel that I should inform you that I will not be returning to London to live. There will still be no more cases or chases,” Sherlock added quickly.

“Why?”

Sherlock paused. Should he tell the truth now?

But John continued. “Why would you think I would want you back for the cases? You really don’t know, do you?”

Sherlock was beginning to think, he was no longer a genius that could read a person like a book. Though John had always been a bit of a grey area for him, much harder to read than others. Maybe his brain was shutting down. Maybe this was a sign of things worsening? He should make an appointment to see his doctor sooner rather than later…

“Sherlock? Are you okay?” John looked concerned.

“Uhm, yes. Quite,” Sherlock bumbled. “What did you say?” Sherlock pressed a hand to his temple. “Actually, might we continue this conversion tomorrow? I find that I need to lay down.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, Sherlock?” John moved out of his chair towards Sherlock.

Sherlock tried to stand carefully, even as his head began to throb. “I just need to relax. I am sorry. I have a spare room upstairs, you are welcome to use.”

“Here let me help you,” John offered as Sherlock wobbled a bit. The arm easing around him was warm and a comfort. Sherlock leaned towards John as they made their way up the stairs. At Sherlock’s door, John let go, moving away from him.

“Loo is just there.” Sherlock pointed to a door. “Goodnight, John.” With that, he moved into his room and shut the door. He could just hear John whisper a goodnight through the wood.

Sherlock stayed there for a moment pressed against the smooth surface. He wanted to open it back up and ask if John would just lay with him. Just so he didn’t have to be alone anymore... A scratching at the wood reminded him that Watson wanted in. Sherlock moved, opening the door so that Watson could join him. He was disappointed to see that John had already walked away. At least, someone would be with him tonight, just not the one he had been wishing for.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so happy that so many have decided to take a risk with me on this story. Only 3 more chapters left after this one. We are getting close to the end. I had planned to post only a chapter a week but decided to would be to much. I hope you continue to enjoy this angst story. <3

**Chapter 6**

Dawn found Sherlock’s head still hurting. _ How was he going to keep this from John? Did he want to keep it from him still? Maybe John should know now…  _

Mycroft had thought John should know from the beginning, but Sherlock didn’t want anyone else to feel sorry for him. He was still living a full life out here with his bees and Watson. Rob had been a nice distraction but Sherlock would make sure he knew that it was just a passing thing. There was no life to have with Sherlock when he could… when he could cease to be here at any point. 

Sherlock eased his way out of bed and into the ensuite. He readied himself for the day, dressing in a light grey button down and black trousers. He contemplated a jumper but changed his mind. Stepping back into his room, he found Watson waiting on the end of his bed. 

“Once more into the fray, Watson ol’ boy.” Sherlock patted the dog’s head as he passed by to the door. Sherlock noted the guest room door was open and empty, he could smell food cooking downstairs. John must be in the kitchen, making breakfast. Sherlock missed having someone to eat with in the morning. He never cooked breakfast for himself. Just some tea and toast most days, then out to see the bees. 

Sherlock entered the kitchen to find John at the stove making eggs. He turned, giving Sherlock a bright smile. 

“Good morning. I thought I would make us some breakfast to start the day. I hope that’s okay?” 

“It’s nice. Thank you.” Sherlock gave a nod before moving to the back door. Sherlock slipped on his wellies and crossed the yard to check his bees. He always found peace standing in the garden just listening to the buzzing around him. Later, he would suit up and check the honey, the third hive should be ready. 

“Hey,” John appeared on his right side, pressing a cup of tea into his hand. “Take this. How are you feeling?” 

Sherlock cradled the warm tea in his hands. How perfect this moment was. How he wished it was always this way. His garden, his bees, a nice cup of tea and John by his side. 

In the silence, he felt a hand gently come to rest on his arm. Soothing and warm. A comfort. Without thinking, Sherlock covered the hand with one of his own. 

“Can we talk?” John asked softly. 

Sherlock looked down where his hand rested on top of John’s. It felt right. It felt as though it should always be this way. He didn’t want to break the spell and let the magic slip away, but John deserved the whole truth. 

“Of course, John. Let's sit.” Sherlock led the way to his porch and took a seat, motioning for John to take the other. He checked to see Watson was running about the yard, he seemed to be chasing an unknown creature. 

John cleared his throat. “I would like to start if that’s okay?” 

Sherlock nodded. He wasn’t sure what John needed to say but was glad for the chance to collect his thoughts before he let John in on his secret. His head was still aching as a reminder. 

“Sherlock, I don’t know if your feelings have changed since you left Baker Street, but I want you to know that I love you. I never said anything because I didn’t think you felt that way towards me and I didn’t want to ruin what we had.” John took a breath. “If you no longer feel the same, I will understand. After you walked out, it took me a bit to get over the shock of your news. I am sure you saw that as me not caring but it’s quite the opposite.” 

Sherlock didn’t know what to think.  _ How did he tell John now that he was basically dying? John loved him. John loved him and he was a dead man walking. Life was cruel.  _

John cleared his throat. “Sherlock? Are you still with me?” 

“A Cerebral Aneurysm.” 

“What?” John stuttered. 

“A Cerebral Aneurysm, just here,” Sherlock pointed out the spot on his skull. “That is why I left and why I live here.” He kept his eyes on Watson, watching him still running around. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the expression on John’s face. 

“Oh my god…” John whispered. “Sherlock, I’m-”

“I don’t need your pity, John.” Sherlock quipped, cutting him off, still keeping his eyes on the garden. “I have dealt with this alone and have come to terms with it. I should never have said what I said to you before leaving. I thought you didn’t care for me that way, so you would be happy to have me gone after I confessed.” 

When John hadn’t spoken, Sherlock decided to look his way. Not sure what he would find. Sherlock lifted his eyes from the garden to the man beside him. Only to see John had covered his face with both hands, his shoulders were shaking alongside the silent sobs leaving him. 

“John?” Sherlock cautiously laid a hand on John’s shoulder. 

John shrugged off his hand, standing up. “Why, Sherlock?” John sobbed. “Why would you think I wouldn’t care and why didn’t you tell me! Why tell me you love me and now say you shouldn’t have told me! I am so confused.” 

“John, you weren’t supposed to care. You were supposed to move on with your life. Fall in love, get married, have kids. You’re supposed to get everything you wanted, once I was out of the way,” Sherlock filled in quietly. 

“ _ You _ were what I wanted! It’s always been you Sherlock! I thought you could see that! I thought you knew!” John slumped back down into the chair. “God, I thought you knew and now… And now you're basically saying what?” 

Sherlock knew he should stick with the truth. John deserved the truth, but John didn’t deserve to watch someone he loved die suddenly in front of him.  _ He should save John from this pain. A slight broken heart now might save John from worse pain later _ . But then again, Sherlock was a bit selfish and he wanted to know John’s love before it was his time... 

“Sherlock? Are you in there? What are you trying to say?” John asked, his voice filling with distress. 

“I am trying to say, you shouldn’t love me. I’m dying, John. You should find someone with a full life to love.” 

“People can live full lifetimes with a brain aneurysm. I am a doctor. I know these things,” John stated. 

“With the life I have led, do you really think I will be one of them? Be practical John.” Sherlock shook his head. “I’m lucky I have lived this long, really. You need someone to build a life with, someone whole.” 

John was quiet before a whisper reached Sherlock’s ears. “And what if I don’t want anyone else?” 

“You should.” 

“I don’t though. Answer me this Sherlock. Please, just tell me if your feelings have changed? Are you in love with Rob Connor?” 

“Who?” Sherlock gave John a confused look before he remembered who Rob was. “Oh uhm-” he blushed at the thought of forgetting his date from last night.

“I think you just answered that question,” John nodded with a pleased smile. Sherlock found that no matter how wonderful Rob had been, he would never be John Watson. 

“I think our breakfast is probably cold now, but I can reheat some of it for us.” John stood, walking into the cottage.

Sherlock watched him leave.  _ How had so much changed in just a day? He went from being alone with Watson, to having a date with Rob, to John showing up, and everything he thought he knew was thrown out the window.  _ His head pulsed again with a sharp aching. Pulling out his phone, he sent a text to Mycroft requesting an appointment with his doctor. 

Mycroft responded with a date and time. Since the doctor was on Mycroft’s payroll it was just easier that way. Tomorrow at 10am. 

Sherlock turned off his phone, sliding it into his pocket. He would need to catch the early train in the morning back to London.  _ Would John go with him? At least to London, but would he ask to go to the appointment as well? Did Sherlock want him to go?  _

Sherlock pondered this thought while sipping the last of his tea. He could hear John humming in the kitchen through the screen door. It was so beautiful and peaceful here right now. More than it had ever been.  _ Maybe they could have a life together. A simple, quiet, peaceful life. Just the two of them against the world... and Watson of course. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your wonderful comments and kudos. I am so happy that so many are enjoying this story. I really thought no one would read it but Kat who it was written for. I am happy to be wrong. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, we are jumping back to see a bit John's side during these last chapters. <3

**Chapter 7**

**Flashback of John’s POV.**

John was not just upset, he was angry.  _ How could Sherlock just leave? Just decide that he was going to fly off to who-bloody-knew-where for Mycroft and leave him behind. _ John climbed the stairs with a fury. Sherlock wasn’t leaving without explaining to him why he couldn’t come. 

And what was this leaving 221B to John? Like he could afford it or even want to live there with someone other than Sherlock. The biggest insult of all was Sherlock sending Mycroft to tell him everything, like John didn’t matter enough for Sherlock to be bothered in telling John himself. 

The door at the top of the stairs was open as John approached. He could see Sherlock’s back as he stood near John’s red chair. The sight made John pause at the door. As much as he wanted to yell at Sherlock, a part of him wanted to just hold the man in his arms instead. 

John wished he knew why Sherlock looked upset in this moment. He was getting what he wanted, which seemed to be getting as far from John as possible. All John wanted was to be with this man, to help him, to protect him. _ If Sherlock went off to work for Mycroft, who would watch Sherlock’s back? _

That was so like Sherlock to just run into danger and leave John behind. Just over a month ago Sherlock had done just that. He had gone out on a case without John to back him up and got injured. After Sherlock had spent a few days in the hospital, things between them had become odd. 

Sherlock barely talked to him and had stopped taking cases. John had been dating a nurse from the clinic during all of it, but broke it off because even though Sherlock didn’t do relationships, John felt like Sherlock needed him. That turned out to be a joke as Sherlock needed no one. That much was clear to John. 

His anger started to rise again just as Sherlock turned around to meet his eyes. The look of surprise and guilt had shone so bright that John knew in that moment, without a doubt, that Sherlock cared nothing for him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_“I love you,” Sherlock whispered, raising his eyes to meet John’s._ **

**_“You what?” John stuttered._ **

**_“I love you, that's why I am leaving.” Sherlock repeated softly._ **

**_John dropped his arm, taking a few steps back. “You— No, I—It’s not--”_ **

**_“I know you don't, which is why I am leaving. You won’t have to see me again. Ever…_ **

**_Goodbye, John.”_ **

_ Sherlock loved him? He loved him? When did that happen? How did it happen? Sherlock didn’t do relationships. Sherlock didn’t care for people that way.  _ John couldn’t think straight _. Sherlock was leaving because he loved me? But why wouldn’t he stay then? Surely he could see that I loved him too? Didn’t he see that I broke things off with.. With?? Oh whatever her name was from the clinic??  _

_ Wait! Where was Sherlock? _

John spun around the room.  _ Sherlock had gone!  _ Must have fled out the door while John was trying to wrap his mind around the fact that everything he thought to be true was wrong. Sherlock loved him and now he was gone, thinking that John didn’t return his love.  _ Bloody hell!  _

John ran down the stairs and out the door only to find an empty street.  _ How on earth would he find Sherlock now? Mycroft! _ Mycroft knew where Sherlock was going! 

John dug into his pockets for his phone, but came up empty handed. He must have left his phone at the clinic.  _ Damn!  _ It had Mycroft’s number. Without his phone, John had no way to call Mycroft. He tried to flag down a taxi but had no luck. He hurried to the tube station and began the journey to the clinic. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One year, six months and who knows how many days it had been since Sherlock left, John arrived at the clinic the same as he always did, ten minutes late. Each day the same as the day before. No change, no difference. Eat, sleep, drink. Or sometimes eat, drink more than he should and pass out on his tiny bed in his tiny bedsit on the edge of nothing. 

He opened the door to his and Mike’s shared office. Mike was already there going through a few files. 

“Hey John,” Mike looked up from his paperwork. 

“Mike,” John nodded to his friend. “Have a good day off?” 

“Yeah, Kathy and I visited her family. Nice drive down. Speaking of, I received something interesting while I was there.” Mike dug into his desk drawer, pulling free a jar. “Here.” 

John reached over taking the jar. “Holmes and Watson’s Honey Farm? What does  _ Pour ma Chanson de coeur _ mean?” 

Mike shrugged. “Don’t know. Just thought you would find it interesting that it was Holmes and Watson.”

John stared at the jar. His heart beat a bit faster.  _ What were the chances? It couldn't be his Holmes.  _ Mycroft made it clear that Sherlock was on a mission and there was no way to contact him right now without putting his life in danger. It was killing John not to know if Sherlock was okay. Mycroft had said that Sherlock would contact John if he wanted to speak to him. 

John was trying to accept that Sherlock just didn’t want to speak to him. He had tried to move on but he couldn’t even go on a meaningless date without his heart breaking. 

“Thanks Mike, it is interesting.” John smiled the best he could and put the jar on his desk. He busied himself on the tasks of the day all the while his mind was on the honey jar. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello Mycroft.” 

“John, to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Where is he?” 

“I am unsure.”

“You’re lying.”

“What makes you so sure?” 

“He is your brother, you always know where he is.” 

“That is true. What has spiked your interest?” 

“I received a jar of honey. Know anything about that?” 

“Should I?” 

“It’s called Holmes and Watson. What are the chances?” 

“Hmm.” 

“Where is he? Don’t lie.” 

“Sussex. But you didn’t hear it from me.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John arrived in the small town that was listed on the Holmes and Watson Honey Farm’s website. There was a local farmer’s market in the park at the center of town. John figured it was the place to start, when looking for a Honey Farm. He wandered through the different stalls selling fruits and vegetables of various shapes and sizes. Towards the middle of the market he was met by a sweet dog. The English Springer Spaniel nuzzled against John’s hand as he reached out to pet the dog. He wondered if the owner was nearby. John looked up searching the area when he saw him. Dark curls, pale skin, cheekbones that could cut glass and eyes the color of the ever-changing sea. 

Sherlock turned locking eyes with John. John tried to read the look in Sherlock’s eyes.  _ Was he happy that John was here? That he had found him?  _ John was suddenly shy. All the way here on the train he had gone over all the different things he would say to Sherlock. Now that he stood in front of him, John could think of none of the great starts he planned on the train. 

John straightened. “Uhm, hey Sherlock.” 

“John.” 

John couldn’t find his voice. Instead, he watched as someone approached Sherlock’s booth. 

“Uhm, I just--,” Sherlock waved towards the booth before turning and walking back. 

John watched him go. He couldn’t take his eyes off them as they interacted at the booth.  _ Who was this person? Surely not the man John used to know.  _ Sherlock had never acted this way towards someone before that he wasn’t trying to get information out of. John couldn’t help his mouth hanging open as he watched Sherlock chatting and smiling at the woman in front of him. 

They talked about honey and different flavours Sherlock was working on. She expressed excitement towards trying them when available. Part of John was happy to see another side of Sherlock and part of him was sure that Sherlock had been snatched and someone else's consciousness had been placed in his body.  _ Maybe he was undercover right now?  _ No, Mycroft would never have told John where Sherlock was if that was the case. 

When Sherlock turned back to him, John was in disbelief. “You just,” John gestured towards the lady leaving. “It's just not--”

Sherlock was silent. John realised that he sounded like a bloody arse. He walked towards Sherlock. “I’m sorry, I just never-” 

Sherlock shrugged. “There is a lot that is different. Why are you here, John?” 

“My, uhm, partner gave me a jar of honey as a gift the other day because it… well it had Holmes and Watson on it. Thought maybe...So I googled the brand.” John looked down before meeting Sherlock’s eyes. He felt nervous. He hadn’t felt this way around Sherlock since they first met. He decided to leave off the fact that Mycroft had been the one to tell him. 

“And you found me.”

“Yeah, I did.” John smiled. “I just thought I would come and see if it was the Holmes I knew.” 

“I see. Well, now you have. Will you be returning to London now?” 

“I thought, maybe we could have dinner? Catch up? Talk about old times?” John smiled. “Maybe you could tell me why you are here instead of doing jobs for Mycroft.” He so badly wanted to know if Sherlock meant what he said before he left or if he lied and moved here to just get away from John. 

John had been sure that towards the end Sherlock could see John’s feelings for him. John had taken to avoiding Sherlock and spending more time at his girlfriend’s at the time. Though if Sherlock had known that John loved him already, why would he think his confession to John would be a problem? 

“Unfortunately, I am busy this evening. Have a safe journey. Sorry you travelled all this way.” Sherlock patted the side of his leg for his dog to heel. 

John felt his heart break. “Sherlock, I was hoping--”

This was the moment a man walked by Sherlock’s booth, calling out. “Hey Sherlock, I’m off on errands. Looking forward to tonight, gorgeous!” 

John’s eyes followed the man. He was everything John was not. Sherlock had moved on and left him behind. Again. 

“So that’s your?” John asked, not finishing his question. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. His heart dropped to his stomach. 

“Yes.” 

_ Right. Need to get out of here. Shouldn’t have come. Sherlock doesn’t want you, you idiot,  _

“Right. Okay. I guess I will just... It was good to see you Sherlock.” John turned.  _ Find a way out. Fast. Need to get out of here. What the bloody hell were you thinking, Watson? _

“Watson! No!” Sherlock called out. 

John stopped.  _ Maybe he was wrong _ . He turned back towards Sherlock with such hope, only to find Sherlock was calling his dog.  _ He named his dog Watson? Holmes and Watson’s honey farm. It wasn’t for John, it was for the dog…. His dog… What did that even mean that Sherlock named his dog after John but seemed to want nothing to do with him????  _

John was utterly confused. He walked the streets all afternoon going over and over everything he thought he knew. As evening came, John headed towards the pub he had passed earlier. Making his way inside, John took an empty seat at the bar. 

He shouldn’t have stayed. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter!! Are you all ready for this? Ahhh here we go! Thank you again for reading this story! <3 <3

**Chapter 8**

**Sherlock’s POV**

After finishing their reheated breakfast, John insisted on cleaning up the kitchen while Sherlock tended to his bees. There was a domestic bliss in the simple tasks of their morning. Sherlock donned his bee suit and began to collect honey from the third hive. He was planning to use this batch for experimenting with a new flavor. He was quite excited and soon became engrossed in the task at hand. When he finished the process of collection and set everything up for the second faze, he noticed John quietly reading on the porch with Watson laying at his feet. 

Sherlock’s heart ached. This is what he had always wanted. This was what he had dreamed about before the head injury that changed his life. He had always seen him and John retiring to a cottage, living out their days together. Sherlock with his bees and John with a book. 

Now it was here. Right at his fingertips. All he had to do was reach out and grab it. Make it his own. To spend the rest of his life with the man he loved, even if it wasn’t the rest of that man’s life.  _ Be brave, Sherlock. He loves you…  _

Sherlock removed his suit, hanging it up properly. He smoothed the front of his shirt before starting across the garden with John in his sight. The love of his life looked up as he approached.

“Finished already?” John asked, setting his book aside. 

Sherlock came to a stop in front of John’s chair. He hesitated only for a moment before leaning down to capture John’s lips with his own. His hands raised to cradle John's head, running his thumb along John’s jaw line. The kiss was simple and sweet. Like a gentle breeze over the meadow or like coming home. Just as gently as it began it was over. 

Sherlock stepped back, letting go of John. “I love you,” he whispered.

John let out a sigh, his eyes still closed. “I know. Come here.” John reached out pulling Sherlock down onto his lap before kissing him again. 

After the second kiss, Sherlock lay his head on John’s shoulder as the man continued to hold him. Sherlock cuddled close, gripping John’s shirt in his hands as a few tears slid down his cheeks. 

“It’s going to be okay, Sherlock,” John whispered into his curls, placing a kiss as well. 

“You don’t know that,” Sherlock whimpered as he pressed his nose against John’s neck. 

“Which of us is the doctor?” John questioned as he held Sherlock tighter. 

“Speaking of that. I have… I have to go and see my doctor in the morning. Would-” 

“Yes, of course,” John interrupted. “Where do you have to go? Here or London?” 

Sherlock felt his heart swell.  _ He loved this man so much. How safe he felt wrapped in John’s arms.  _

“Mycroft’s office by 10am.” Sherlock nuzzled closer to John. 

“Oh right. That works. So catch the train in the morning? Or do you want to go tonight?”

“Tomorrow is sufficient.” Sherlock paused for a second. “You will stay and ride with me tomorrow, right?”

“Of course, love. You aren’t getting rid of me that easily.” John smiled down at Sherlock. 

“Sherlock!” called Mrs Taylor from the side yard. “You home dear?” 

Sherlock shifted on John’s lap so he was sitting up. He wiped at his eyes to remove any lingering tears. Though nothing could be done about the redness. “Yes, Mrs Taylor. Back porch.” 

“Mrs Taylor?” John mouthed to him as Sherlock stood, straightening his shirt. John followed suit. 

“Oh deary, you have company.” Mrs Taylor fussed. 

“Good morning, I’m John Watson,” John, ever the gentleman, greeted and shook the elder lady’s hand. 

“OH!” Mrs Taylor’s free hand went to her mouth. “John Watson?  _ The _ John Watson?” She looked over at Sherlock. 

Sherlock could feel the blush creep up his neck. Mrs Taylor knew all about John, since she first met Sherlock. She looked so proud to see him here with Sherlock. Much the way Mrs Hudson would be if she knew. Maybe while they were in London, they should stop and see Hudders for a visit.

“Yes. Good morning, Mrs Taylor.” Sherlock smiled, accepting her hug. “Since you are here, would you be able to watch Watson tomorrow? I have to run into London for the day.”

“Of course,” she waved an absent hand. “Don’t you worry, deary. Just drop him off when you leave. I just stopped by for a bit of honey to go with my tea. I seem to have run out.” 

“Oh,” Sherlock disappeared into his store room, coming back with a jar. “This is a new one. Let me know what you think.” 

“Oh perfect! I shall do just that. You boys have a lovely day.” Mrs Taylor gave Sherlock a knowing wink and a pat on the arm before she turned to John. “It was wonderful to meet you John. I have always wanted to meet his Chanson de coeur. Goodbye dearies.” With the wave of a hand she was gone. 

“Your what?” John questioned. “That sounds familiar.”

Sherlock blushed. “It’s the french on my jars.”

“On your honey jars?” John asked, stepping closer, he slid his hand into Sherlock’s. 

Sherlock trembled at John’s touch. “She- she called you my heartsong. That is what it says on my honey jars.  _ For my heartsong _ . Sentiment, I know.” 

Sherlock was caught off guard as John reached up to kiss him. Sighing into the kiss, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, pulling him closer. 

John pulled back from the kiss, smiling up at him. “How could I have ever questioned if you still loved me with all the evidence in front of me.” 

Sherlock shrugged, his blush becoming stronger.  _ His love did seem to be blaring out from all angles. He didn’t even try to hide it. It was all there like a beacon for anyone that cared to look. Thankfully John decided to observe.  _

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock stared out of the train window, watching the countryside pass by. His hand holding John’s while resting on John’s leg. He never thought he could feel such happiness. Last night Sherlock had shyly asked John to stay with him in his room. He had been nervous to share his bed even if it was just to sleep. John had made him feel so at ease, holding him close through the night. 

He had woken to John placing a kiss on the tip of his nose. It had been the most glorious way to wake up. Having a train to catch didn’t give them much time. John had made tea while Sherlock took Watson to Mrs Taylor’s.

Now, here they were almost to London, John holding his hand as though they had done this their whole life and not just the last twenty-five hours and nineteen minutes. 

Sherlock raised a hand to his temple, pressing for just a moment, thankful he hadn't woken with a headache this morning. 

“Head hurting, love?” John asked softly, placing a quick kiss on the back of their clasped hands. 

“No, just not looking forward to seeing the doctor. What if it’s bad news?” Sherlock curled as close to John as the seat would allow. 

“Then we will face it together. You’re not alone anymore.” John smiled down at Sherlock as he lay his head on John’s shoulder. 

“I love you,” Sherlock whispered.

“And I you,” John replied, letting go of Sherlock’s hand to wrap his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders, hugging him close. “And I you,” he whispered again into Sherlock’s hair. 

Sherlock felt his eyes brim with unshed tears making it hard to see anything around him. He closed them, just breathing in John’s scent and listening to his own breathing. A sort of calmness settled over him that said anything that came up they could handle together. Just the two of them against the world. Forever. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end of this story. I want to thank my wonderful betas again without them this story would not be what it is today. Harmony and Meer were amazing. Thank you, thank you, thank you! This story was writing for Fandom Trumps Hate auction. It was my first year offering a story and I have enjoyed it a lot. It has been a journey over the last two weeks reading all your wonderful comments. Thank you so much for taking a chance on this story with less then amazing tags. I hope you enjoy the ending. Feel free to leave comments on here or on my twitter @octoberisblue or on both. I love hearing what you thought. Alright without farther ado, the final chapter is here. <3 <3 <3

**Chapter 9**

**John’s POV**

**Ten years and two months later.**

John rolled over, slowly opening his eyes to find he was alone in bed. Sherlock and Watson must have got up early. John stretched and made his way towards the loo. As he passed the dresser, he ran a loving hand over their wedding photo. Matching suits out in their garden, just a few guests attending. Seemed like yesterday even though it had been over nine years since that day. 

Mycroft had officiated the ceremony for them and it had been perfect. Not a cloud in the sky and Sherlock’s bees all around them. John couldn’t have asked for better.

After the loo, John dressed in a jumper (that Sherlock had given him for their first Christmas together) and jeans. Country living suited him. He had started helping out at the local doctor’s office and eventually took over when Doctor Edward retired. 

John enjoyed tending to the small scrapes, rashes and cuts that he saw each day. His off days were spent with Sherlock and Watson in the garden or reading by the fire. 

John entered the kitchen to start the kettle before stepping out the back door to call out so they knew he was up. He received several barks in reply. John smiled before returning to the kettle. He made some toast and poured the tea. 

He made his way to his chair on the porch to enjoy both as Sherlock and Watson rounded the corner. Both dogs jumped on to the porch, excited to see John and wagging their tails. Even though Watson was starting to have trouble running around these days, Sherlock was helping him stay young.

“Good morning, boys. Have you been visiting Mrs Taylor again?” John smiled, patting both before giving each a small piece of his toast. 

It had been a year now since Sherlock passed away and John missed him every second. They had lived each day like it was their last up to the end. Sherlock had made John promise that he would continue their life when he was gone. He taught John how to care for the bees and how to make honey. 

After Sherlock passed, John found the bees comforting, but he was no beekeeper. He let Mrs Taylor’s nephew harvest the honey each season instead. 

John still went to the farmer’s Markets on Saturday mornings once a month but not to sell their honey. He kept all of the honey Sherlock had made, using it sparingly so he wouldn’t run out. That was his alone. 

John cleaned up his breakfast and put on his shoes. It was Sunday. Sunday was Sherlock’s day. He picked a handful of flowers on his way through the garden before heading down the road. Both dogs followed along stopping to sniff here and there. As they entered the cemetery, John saw Mr Wilson leaving. 

“Hello there. Just visiting the Missus?” John shook Mr Wilson’s offered hand. 

“Yes, yes. Wouldn’t do to miss a Sunday. You’re early this week?” 

“Yeah, thought I would get an early start, have a lot to fill him in on today.” John looked down at the flowers in his hand. 

“Well, I won’t keep ya. Say hello for me.” With that Mr Wilson continued out to his car. 

John waved before walking to where Sherlock rested. 

**Here lies:**

**William Sherlock Scott Holmes-Watson**

**Loving Son, Brother and Husband.**

**“Ma Chanson de coeur”**

  
  


John laid a hand on top of Sherlock's headstone. “Hey my love, miss you. Wait until you hear the week I have had.” John sighed, letting out a laugh as he placed the flowers next to the stone. “First Mr Curtis was back. Yeah, I know he has nothing wrong with him, but he read this doctor site on the internet and well, you know how the rest goes.” John sat down on the bench, a dog on each side of him. “So that was just the start to my week." 

  
  
  


**The End**


End file.
